Chuck Bass's guide to murdering the butterflies
by ipodder
Summary: This is the best way to murder the butterflies. Afterall, that’s what Blair wanted him to do, wasn’t it? One shot: my first fanfic for gossip girl. Please review!


Chuck doesn't take himself seriously

Chuck doesn't take himself seriously. He parades around New York in his stripy shirts and bow ties, hair carefully mused and cologne delicately sprayed. He doesn't care whether it's paper or plastic, as long as it pays. With deviously good looks and kind of cash, the girls came with just a click of the finger. Sure, they were hot, and good for the night, maybe even two. But as time goes by, it gets boring, Chuck plays it off like it doesn't matter, that he loves this life.

But he's always been searching for something more.

His mother left and god knows where she is. His father, Bart Bass is always busy working, building his empire that came from scratch. Chuck thinks the reason he parades his wealth around so much is because he needs to prove himself. Unlike the Archibalds, Van Der Woodsens (and other triple barraled surnames) and Waldorfs, he was just a Bass. His grandfather was a working class shop owner, his father went to a public high school a few blocks away from his house. Chuck, on the other hand, attends St.Jude' school for boys, one of the most prestigeous prep schools in NY. 90 of the kids who go here can almost walk into any Ivy League admissions office and be garunteed a placement. He travels with his driver, Stan, in a lincoln town car. Chuck needs to prove to everyone that he deserves to be in this world, that although he didn't come from old money, he belonged in this crowd.

Blair and Nate grew up together, as did the rest of them. But those two had some sort of preppy filled connection. Ever since the first day of kindergarden, when Chuck was playing with some hot wheel cars on the floor, Nate and Blair held hands and drew eachother pictures of their families. Nate grew to be the preppiest,most handsome boy on the upper east side, he looks and poses like a model in a Ralph Lauren ad campaign. Chuck, on the other hand, became the 'bad boy', slimy and almost cheap. But the two boys became best friends. There were other boys and girls who were always on the sidelines, all attractive, all upper class, but they were only accquaintances, people they can party with, to have group gatherings with, and they never became anything more.

Aside from the King and his right hand man, there must also be the Queen and her lady in waiting. Nate and Blair got together and automatically embraced their position of the power couple. Chuck was still whoring around, Serena was happy being the untouchable, gorgeous wild girl. All was good until the King and the lady in waiting suddenly started having flirty banters and soon sparks flew. They lost their virginities to each other on a drunken night, and pretty soon she fled to Connecticut.

Everyone knows the story that follows. There's no need to retell the tale. But what's interesting is what came between Chuck and Blair. During his opening party at Victrola, Queen B was up on stage, strutting it up with the strippers. Chuck, was suddenly enchanted. She looked a world apart from other girls, she was gorgeous, a blind person would see that. But to Chuck, there was more to her than that. He never thought of it before, the gf of the bf. Sounds like an episode of One Tree Hill, but he wasn't Peyton Sawyer, Nate wasn't Brooke Davis and Blair surely wasn't Lucas Scott. He shook these thoughts away and gulped down two more glasses of JD and coke. He took her home in his town car. The ride was magical, and again, enchating. The atmosphere was sensual, almost hot. Blair smelt of sweat and perfume, and her own natural musk. Chuck reaked of alcohol and cigarettes, his own cologne in the atmosphere. It cetainly wasn't a romantic setting between these two 'corrupted' teens.

Blair moved an inch closer to his. Chuck's pants tightened, and his heart was pounding. He's never had an intimate moment with a girl before, he was the type of guy who lost his virginity to a hooker, and the girls at school he slept with were all pretty much unconscious. But with Blair it was pure, innocent and almost cute. He had given her a compliment and she thanked him with a kiss, how junior high right?

Chuck closed his eyes, and moved an inch closer as a response. The two soon collided and their mouths crashed into eachother, tongues trying to dominate. Chuck smiled inwardly, although they both reaked of alcohol and other dirty things, the kiss was so innocent and pure. The make out session soon led to something more, and within fifteen minutes Chuck retrived something from his pant pocket, something he reserved for the blonde dancer he met back stage. Blair's mouth was warm and strangely tasted of cinnamon, Chuck wondered if it was the amount of weed he smoked that night.

'I don't want you anymore'

Blair's eyes teared up. Her heart shattered and she felt ashamed.

Chuck's cold eyes was just an act, it was the drink talking. Inside, the butterflies fluttered around twice as much, reminding him of his mistake. But Chuck took a deep breath and another sip of the drink. With one drink, one butterfly was murdered.

Chuck tried to reason with himself as he ordered another drink, vodka on the rocks. Blair left ten minutes ago, and he doesn't know where she went. His head was numb and the room started to spin, he could feel tonight's dinner in his throat and he instantly washed it down with a gulp of vodka. Sometimes, he wonders why people drink, you wake up with the worst headache and a queasy stomach, but now he realises it. He drinks, and he feels like shit, and for a moment, his biggest problem is the headache that won't go away, and when the headache is solved, everything else will slowly heal. As long as he has a clear head, shit can keep happening, he wouldn't mind. But this only lasts for a moment. Suddenly he felt way too queasy for his own good, he gets up and ignores the stares from middle aged Wall Street men, and rushes to the bathroom. He crouches down on the floor, throwing away his dignity into the clean white bowl. He rests his back against the wall and closes his eyes, begging for the heacache to go away, although he feels a bit better. His heart races as he feels another wave of sickness rise up, as he holds onto the bowl, he smiles inwardly.

This is the best way to murder the butterflies. Afterall, that's what Blair wanted him to do, wasn't it?


End file.
